Bottles of Thedas
by Kyndred.Raven
Summary: When Inquisitor Lavellan tries to relieve some stress with Qunari spirits, chaos ensues. What's a Commander to do but find a way out of the situation? Perhaps some pandemonium is just what is needed to spur things along between a shy ex-Templar and his Inquisitor. (Cullen/F!Lavellan)


**A/N: **Written in response to a fantastic kinkmeme prompt. First venture into this sort of territory, so please be gentle and loving with comments! ^_^

**Warning:** Hilarious and **mature content** ahead. Please note that this story is **rated M** for a reason.

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**Bottles of Thedas**

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"Cassandra," Cullen said, his hand covering his mouth and muffling the sound.

"Yes, Cullen?" The Seeker's eyes were wide, one eyebrow quirked in an expression of surprise that Cullen might have found humorous had the situation been less dire.

"Please tell me that I'm not seeing this."

"Which part of it?" she asked. "The part where Iron Bull and Sera are passed out on the battlements or the part where our Inquisitor is about to fall to her death in an attempt to perform some sort of...is that a dance?" She looked at the Commander, fury blooming in her hazel eyes. Josephine was openly staring, her jaw slack and her hand pressed against her ruffled chest.

"Is the Inquisitor dancing an Orlesian waltz on the..." the Ambassador trailed off.

"Yes, she is," Cullen muttered, his heart rate accelerating at a ridiculous pace. At first, he'd been certain that he was hallucinating. He'd had a fairly long day. Nothing too unusual save for floods of reports and a thousand small tasks to complete. However, he was tired enough to call himself delusional when he looked out the window of his office and spied their petite Inquisitor parading around on one of the towers of the battlements barefoot. Her red waist length hair trailed behind her like a silken banner, and she had her arms wrapped around what he could only assume to be an imaginary suitor, her small feet somehow keeping purchase on the narrow ledge as she twirled in clumsy circles with a besotted smile plastered on her face. Her impromptu performance was gathering quite a bit of attention from the soldiers and workers below. Some were pointing with shocked looks on their faces; others were helpless to do anything but stare with a mix of horror and fascination.

"We should do something," Josephine squeaked. Her face had gone pale. Cassandra looked shell-shocked. Cullen wasn't in much better shape. With more than a little trepidation, he watched the Inquisitor balance precariously on the edge. He knew he should go to her - likely _run_ to her - but he was frozen in place. He calculated how long it would take to reach her. Too long. By the time he got there, she could already -

"She's falling!" Cassandra shouted. Gut wrenching and folding in on itself, Cullen watched with baited breath as the Inquisitor slipped and nearly lost her footing. He swore so darkly that even Josephine gasped and was out the door before anyone could say anything else. It took time to jog all the way around the Keep. By the time he reached her, he saw that she'd abandoned her imaginary dance partner and was now raising her hands in the air and shouting some sort of nonsense in elvish. The crowd below had grown in size. Not far from where she had climbed over the edge, Iron Bull was coming out of his stupor, a mug in one hand and a massive black bottle in another. Cullen rounded on him first.

"Just what in blazes is going on here?" he shouted over the Inquisitor's hollering. Bull blinked once at him, then looked at the flailing elf. He rubbed his good eye then shrugged his bulky shoulders.

"How the fuck should I know?" he said. "Girl can't hold her liquor obviously."

"You were _drinking_ with her?"

"Yeah, what's it to you? She was more wound up than a Desire demon's sphincter, so I offered her an out."

"What is _that_?" Cullen pointed to the bottle.

"Qunari special," Bull smirked, wiggling the glass container. "Good for two things: poisoning giant spiders and getting grease out of forges." He hiccuped.

"And you let her _drink_ that?" Bull waved at him dismissively.

"She'll be fine, boss. Just give her some time, and the screws will settle back into place. Assuming she's not puking up her guts in about an hour - and I mean it when I say that. This shit really screws with the innards." Cullen was about to say something extremely rude and out of his character when a few water droplets hit his nose. He looked up and - horrified - saw that their fearless leader had summoned a mixture of a rain and lightning storm above their heads. Thunder rumbled, grey clouds gathering around this particular area and shooting out purple bolts of lightning. Someone in the crowd shrieked in terror as the bolt hit a tree and set it ablaze. Right away, he knew that this could not be allowed to continue. He stepped over to the girl, trying not to startle her. He really had no idea how she hadn't fallen off yet. Judging by the way her hair was mussed, the rising flush in her cheeks, and the languid look in her green eyes - she had passed the point of tipsy and had gone straight to the realm of idiocy.

"Inquisitor," he called out to her, gently at first. His heart stopped when she twirled around to face him and nearly lost her balance.

"Cullen!" she cried out with a simpleminded joy he wasn't used to seeing. She was always so serious; so focused and in control. She rarely smiled just for the sake of smiling. "Sera! Bull! Look! It's Cully Wully!" Cullen really didn't want to know if the horrid nickname was her invention or Sera's, but he had an inkling. He glanced at her accomplices in this travesty. Bull cracked open an eye, took a swig of whatever poison was in the enormous bottle in his hand, and belched. Sera - well - she was dead to the world, her mouth hanging open and her legs positioned at an angle that couldn't have been comfortable to someone of a sober disposition. He turned back to the Inquisitor, feeling more than a little irritated. What was she thinking? Not even a day had passed since she returned to Skyhold, a dragon's head and numerous injuries in tow. Her only explanation of "Bull felt like killing it" didn't serve to soothe his ire. It mattered not that Vivienne had helped heal her. Lately, Cullen felt like she was throwing herself into dangerous situations on purpose, and he didn't approve in the least.

"Inquisitor," he said in a more stern tone, clenching his jaw. "Please come down from there."

"WhyshouldI?" she slurred at him, planting her hands on her small but shapely hips. Why? _Why?_ Had she really just asked him that? Cullen reigned in his temper, knowing that his anger stemmed mostly from raw concern. His eyes widened when, instead of doing as he asked, she shucked off the top of her leather armor, revealing a white lambswool undershirt beneath. One of the straps slid down a delicate shoulder. As she tore the bottom of the shirt out of the confines of her trousers, he caught a glimpse of her tiny waist and flat belly. Bending down - and still somehow not losing her balance - she folded up the bottoms of her pants to reveal lean muscular calves. It wasn't scandalous - not by a long shot. However, Cullen imagined that she wasn't going to stop there.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, feeling a lump gather in the back of his throat. Seeing her so exposed was...uncomfortable. He still didn't understand where they stood in terms of their relationship. They'd kissed a few times - passionately - but they had yet to go further. Something came between them every time there was an opportunity to try. His own insecurities didn't help, either. Nor did their hectic schedule.

"It's getting intheway and it's hot," she explained, stumbling over the words, and waved her hands around to form casting runes.

"Please come down." He scowled, for right as he said that, torrents of water poured down on top of them all. People in the crowd cried out in distress; most of them scattered to the four winds as soon as the freezing rain began. Most of the water chinked and clanked off the metal of his armor, but some soaked through the furs of the cloth and leather he wore. Soon, he was shivering _and_ glaring, but his displeasure only seemed to fuel the girl's misguided sense of fun. "You realize that you've summoned a storm above us?" he snapped.

"Uh huh," she answered with a crooked nod. "And guess what?" He didn't dare give in and ask what other mischief she had planned. He could see enough of it in her large and expressive eyes. "I've had an epiphany. I'm going to water the whole nursery at the same time. Then, I'm going to" - a hiccup - "freeze all of the berries on the trees and make them into a necklace." She grinned at him, and if the unfamiliar expression wasn't so innocent and endearing, he was sure he would have shouted at her. She looked so damn proud of herself that he had no words to tell her how ridiculous the entire endeavor was. Cullen was furious with her behavior and the choices leading up to it, but it was extremely difficult to stay angry at her when she was like this. He'd never seen her so relaxed and playful - almost carefree. The Commander stepped closer to her, reaching up with his hands. Just a little more and he could grab her.

"Let me help you down from there and you can do that from a safer place," he lied. Actually _lied_. What was this woman doing to him?

"No," she pouted. "I looked _eeeeverywhere_, and this is the _best_ place." Water ran in rivulets down her skin, and Cullen was momentarily distracted when he noticed that her white shirt was growing more and more transparent as time passed. He felt a flush crawl up his face when he caught a glimpse of a rosy nipple. As though the lightning above had struck _him_ this time, he quickly looked away.

"Inquisitor," he began, forcing himself to look _only_ at her face.

"No!"

"Lusiel, please..." he begged, hoping she would respond better if he used her name.

"You just watch! I'm going to make a berry necklace!" She raised her hands again, and her eyes changed from vivid green to dark emerald. He felt the charge of magic in the air a split second before the temperature dropped. No. Surely, she wasn't insane enough to summon a blizzard here. But it didn't matter, for she was distracted and quite vulnerable with her arms flailing about. The raindrops began to turn into snowflakes, and Cullen decided that hesitation was no longer an option. He took another step towards her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and pulled her from the ledge. She gave a sort of mixture between a squeak and a squawk, immediately trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Be still," he growled at her. "This has gone on long enough."

"You don't give me orders, Commander," she hissed and pushed against his chest. Gritting his teeth, he crushed her against him, keeping her arms at her sides.

"Cease your squirming," he bit out. For such a small woman, she had a surprising amount of strength. Eventually, she tired herself out and settled for scowling at him. "Good. Now as far as I see it, you have two options. I can escort you to your quarters, where you will change out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill, or I can carry you there like a sack of potatoes in front of the entire Keep." The look of outrage on her face was almost humorous; he likely would have laughed if he wasn't busy doing everything he could to stifle his anger. Again, she tried to wriggle out of his hold.

"You wouldn't _dare_," she challenged. "I am the Inquisitor!"

"Don't try me, Lusiel," he warned. "Look at the ruckus you've caused."

"_You're_ the ruckus," she countered, and while he was busy trying to understand what in the world she meant by that, she stomped on his foot. And cried out in agony. She was barefoot, after all, and she'd just mashed her fragile toes into his armored boot. "Ouch! Let me go you...you..." she spat something in elven that sounded dirty even to his ignorant ears. Her skin thrummed with magic; she grew lighter, and he realized she was about to Fadestep out of his grip. In her state, he couldn't trust her not to Fadestep off the tower and into thin air. Not that it really mattered, for at that moment, his patience bent, creaked, and snapped like a dry twig under pressure.

She was still busy shouting her head off at him, spitting some words in elven and others in a language he'd never even heard before. Cullen hadn't taken Lyrium in some time; his Templar powers weren't nearly as strong as they used to be. However, fueled by fury as he was, he felt them respond. Just as he felt her prepare to fire her spell, he slammed a Spell Purge down against her, effectively silencing her magic and cutting her off from her abilities. Her shouting stopped; her face morphed through a myriad of expressions: shock, confusion, fear, then rage. She gasped with understanding and gave him a glare that could have burned a hole through dragon scales. He smirked, feeling a rare sense of accomplishment.

"You_ dare_...?" she huffed. Cullen wasn't about to give her a chance to recover. Clenching his jaw, he lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder. Lusiel fought him every step of the way. When he secured her arms, she kicked out with her feet, nearly hitting him square in the jaw. When he tightened his grip on her legs, she tried to bite him. Damn it all. How were they going to get anywhere at this rate? He passed through as few public places as possible, hoping to spare them all as much embarassment as he could. Lusiel's furious shrieks weren't helping. Bull and Sera might not care about their image, but the Inquisitor had a reputation to maintain. Now if he could just make it to -

"Well well, Curly. Finally lost it and decided to take matters into your own hands?"

Damn it. Maker, no. Not _him_.

Cullen turned, dreading this encounter. Varric greeted him with his typical smile, looking very much like the cat who just ate the canary.

"Varric!" Lusiel cried out. "Thank the Creators! Tell this Maker-loving oaf to put me down!" The dwarf chuckled, leaning against the doorway. Cullen cursed under his breath. That was the exit.

"No, I think not. This is too perfect, and way too satisfying."

"Traitor!" she barked. "All of you are traitors! You can't do this, I tell you! I'll judge you! As soon as I'm free I'll - " Cullen jostled her in his hold and she coughed when his shoulder dug into her stomach. For a moment, he feared that he'd hurt her, but as soon as she caught her breath again, she resumed threatening them both. Varric's laughter got more intense until he was leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees.

"This is too much," he chortled then raised his hands to shape his fingers into the image of a picture frame. "I can see it now." He cleared his throat playfully and lowered his voice. "And the sexually tormented ex-Templar could take no more of the beautiful elven Inquisitor's innocent yet tantalizingly seductive charms. Consent or not, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her into his room, passion leading him - "

"Varric, if you don't stop I swear I'll strangle you," Lusiel hissed.

"You should really be more concerned about un-strangling _yourself_ first, darling," another voice drawled. Dorian strode out from the behind the open door, looking unusually pleased with himself. Cullen's eyes flew between the dwarf and the smug Tevinter mage, his expression completely dumbfounded. As the dwarf's words echoed and repeated themselves in his mind, he felt heat creeping up his neck again.

"How about it, Curly? Sounds good, doesn't it? And the fans will love it..."

"Fans?" he rasped, his voice oddly tight.

"Of my book, of course. This scene is too incredible _not_ to include in the novel."

"Novel?" He shook his head. "You couldn't...you _wouldn't_...this isn't what it looks like...Oh, Maker..." he backed up, his mind already seeking a way out of this predicament. His surprise allowed Lusiel to wiggle a leg free of his grip. She lashed out and kicked him in the chest. And howled in agony once again when her exposed knee rammed into the sharp edges of his armor.

"Ouch! Cullen, Creators take you! Put! Me! Down!" The blow was just enough to tear through skin; a trickle of blood ran down her leg. "Dorian!" She rounded on the mage. "Dorian, _do_ something!"

"My hands are tied," the mage chuckled and presented his palms. "You can't expect me to go against the Commander. Though I did enjoy the show up on the battlements, I think that any more mischief might just ruin your glowing image." He stepped aside and gestured for Cullen to pass. "Josephine and I have cleared the western wing. No one will see you, but go quickly."

"Don't spoil the fun!" Varric teased then cleared his throat again as Cullen lurched forward. "Passion leading him as straight and true as an arrow, the Commander gathered the drunken Inquisitor in his arms and hurried to his quarters. His body burned with need and desire - "

Cullen blocked the rest of it out and ran from the room as fast as his legs could carry him, his face burning the whole way. He felt Lusiel's magic recovering and panicked. If she managed to escape now, she would be a handful to catch. At first, he wasn't sure where exactly he was going. The western wing, Dorian had said. That meant he could take a side passage to Lusiel's quarters in relative privacy.

"Put me down," Lusiel repeated. He felt her shivering and knew she must be freezing. If he was cold in his heavy armor, she had to be miserable in her sodden cloth and leather garments. He remembered how close she'd come to falling from the ledge and gritted his teeth. "Cullen, I don't like this..."

"Perhaps you should have considered that when you imbibed well past your limits," he snapped. "Have you any idea how much worse this could have been?" He allowed his anger to overshadow his embarrassment, feeling more comfortable with the emotion. "You could have fallen from that blasted ledge. You could have_ hurt_ someone with your magic games. You could have set the garden on fire - or the Keep. How could you be so careless?" In response, she tried to elbow him, redoubling her efforts to get free. On the way to her quarters, he passed through one of the servant's rooms. He was so angry now that he could hear his blood roaring in his ears. The image of her falling from the battlements or being devoured by a raging dragon looped in his mind. Bending down over a dining table, he grabbed the corner of a tablecloth and pulled. Hard. Dishes, silverware, and goblets went flying - scattering and shattering all over the floor. Stomping over to one of the cots, he dumped her on the mattress and proceeded to wrap her in the thick canvas sheet. She resisted, of course, but he was having none of it. When her magic recovered and she attempted another Fadestep, he countered with yet another Spell Purge.

"Stop this, Lusiel," he growled at her. "You are not a child! Stop acting like a bratling! Where is the strong woman that I know? What's happened to her?" he demanded to know. Then went utterly still. Her eyes were strangely luminous and wide; her pupils looked huge and black. As she lay helpless on the cot, he walked to the window and tore open the curtain. In the light, he saw the truth of her resistance and balked. She was terrified. Truly terrified. Not of of an enemy or a creature, but of _him_. His anger was snuffed out like a candle flame in a roaring wind. Cullen felt sick. That expression did not belong on her beautiful face.

She was the Inquisitor - fearless and strong, brave and undaunted. Yet now her eyes shone with a faint sheen of tears. Lusiel, whom he had never seen upset. Lusiel, whom he had never seen give into weakness.

"Lusiel?" Horrified that he'd been the one who made her feel such fear, he knelt beside her. She looked at him but said nothing, simply followed the movement of his hands like one might follow a snake. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold off a flash of panic. "Lusiel, sweetheart, are you alright?"

"Let me out of this sheet," she said in an even voice he recognized too well. She was holding back strong emotions.

"Do you promise not to run away?"

"How can I? You've taken my magic," she said, her voice catching in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I didn't know what else to do." The tears finally spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She sniffled, trying to hide her face. Cullen cupped her cheek, gently wiping away the moisture with his thumb. "Forgive me," he repeated. With each tear, he felt more frantic. "Maker, Lusiel, did I hurt you? You were struggling so much..." And she was so small and delicate. He felt like a brute - like the oaf she'd accused him of being earlier. How had he let his emotions control him like that? "Where does it hurt?" She kept her mutinous silence until he thought he'd go mad. "Lusiel, talk to me..."

"I just..." she took in a ragged breath. "I _really_ wanted a berry necklace," she sniffed, cutting through his apology. "It would have been so pretty. I wanted us to have matching ones." Baffled and thrown off kilter by the realization that she was still very much drunk, Cullen felt relief flood him when she finally leaned into his touch. "I feel sick, Cullen. And dizzy. Make it go away."

"I know, love. Come on. We should get you into a proper bed." He began to unwrap the sheet. "We need to get you dry and warm." Her hair was sopping wet. "Do you promise to come quietly this time?" She nodded, her eyes soft and languid again. He focused on unwrapping the sheet, pausing when he realized that she was staring at him. "What is it?"

"Will you come with me?"

"Where, sweet?"

"To bed." His fingers stilled. Cullen suddenly felt like he might choke.

"What?" He glanced up at her. The fear and anxiety had completely melted off her face, replaced by a pretty blush that caressed her cheekbones and the tips of her pointed ears. Her shirt was completely transparent now, and he knew that he only needed to look a little bit lower to see something he shouldn't. Not now. Not when she was this vulnerable. He tried to concentrate on freeing her of the tablecloth, forcing his wandering thoughts to the back of his mind.

"You're _reeeeally_ handsome," she mumbled, oblivious to his discomfort. "Have I told you that before?" Cullen pointedly ignored this statement. "Have I?" The blasted sheet finally came undone; the moment it did, she brought up her hands and stroked both sides of his face. "Cullen," she whispered, and he had to suppress a shiver when he felt her breath fan against his neck. "I really like your eyes...and your big shoulders...and the scar on your lip..." Though her words were still somewhat slurred, he couldn't deny the heat in each syllable.

"Lusiel," he fumbled for something to say - anything at all. "I...that is...perhaps this isn't the time to - "

"Kiss me?" she asked, her blush growing darker. "Kiss me. I want you to..._so_ much..." Cullen could think of a thousand reasons why he shouldn't give into this right now. She was drunk, she didn't know what she was doing, she was obviously emotionally compromised, and she needed a hot bath and a long night of uninterrupted sleep. Perfect excuses. Perfectly logical explanations. However, thinking had always been easier for him than speaking, and when he tried to explain to his very drunk and very tempting Inquisitor why they _shouldn't_ do this right now, the words rebelled. Whatever excuses he might have mumbled scurried away like skittish mice at the sight of a predator. Whatever explanations and rationalizations he could have tried to give were lost in the color of her eyes. What came out instead of intelligible speech was a plethora of clumsy and fragmented syllables that Lusiel swiftly stopped by covering his lips with hers.

Soft - like the petals of a flower in Spring. She smelled of rain and nature - of the wilds and of freedom. He only hesitated for a moment, for the little moan she gave when he pulled her against him nearly drove him mad. How quickly one could fall from sanity into euphoria; how quickly could desire unravel even the strongest of minds. They hadn't kissed or touched for weeks while she was gone campaigning in the Emerald Graves, and the absence of her touch had built a weakness in the shield that was his resolve. All it took was a caress - just there, at the nape of his neck. A finger circling around the neckline of his armor. Nails running through his hair with painful gentleness and wrapping one of his golden curls around a slender pinky. And he was undone. His reason resisted with its full strength, but his passion muted out everything but the way Lusiel felt right now in his arms.

Still, he pulled back. It was like stopping a careening ship trapped in the claws of a roaring maelstrom. He yanked on the reigns of his self-control and tried to steer clear of disaster. The moment that he broke their union, Lusiel whimpered in protest. She tried to tug him back down, back to those incredible lips, but Cullen closed his eyes and turned his head aside. If he looked at her now, if he touched her now, if he felt the gossamer softness of her skin - he wouldn't be able to stop again.

"Cullen," she murmured. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"We can't. Not here. Not now." A beat.

"If you don't want me, just say so." His head whipped back to her, his eyes capturing her with ferocity and outrage. What she said was blasphemy more terrible than anything that could ever be put forth against the Maker. Him not want her? The notion was ludicrous. But there was pain in her eyes - sorrow and hurt. She didn't understand why he was hesitating, and that's precisely why he needed to resist. Cullen's eyes took in every aspect of her face - her slanted eyes, the beautiful Dalish patterns on her cheeks, the way her lips were already reddening from their earlier kiss. He watched her chest rise and fall, watched how her nipples strained against the thin material of her shirt. His belly clenched with a need that surpassed anything he'd ever felt.

"Don't say that," he commanded and pulled her against him. "Not ever. Don't even think it." They collided in another ravenous kiss. Lips molding, foreheads touching, fingers running through hair and over flesh. He laved his tongue over her bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and tugging just enough to make her whine in lustful agony.

"I need you," she pleaded. "I'm losing my mind, Cullen. Stop teasing me." Her hand came up to cover his. "Kisses? Touches in hidden corners? I'm tired of it. I'm sick of hiding. I don't care who knows about us." When he sought to argue, she pressed a finger to his lips. "I'm drunk," she admitted. "But I'm far from crazy. I've wanted you since the moment we first kissed on the battlements. I've shown you in every way that I can, but you...you just..." Her eyes closed, a small line marring the perfection of her brow. His thoughts ran wild. He knew exactly what needed to be said.

He'd wanted her from that first moment as well, if not for longer than that. He couldn't believe it when she'd confessed that she shared his feelings - could never believe that an amazing woman like this could love someone like him. Yet there she was, telling him over and over again that she was there for him - that she would _stay _with him. But she was the Inquisitor. And who was he? Just a Commander. Just a General. Just another follower. She was a hero, and she needed someone of equal stature by her side. Why couldn't she see that? Cullen cupped her chin, turned her so she looked at him. The words were there - boiling and ready to spill out.

"I...that is, I've also wanted you...and it's not because I don't that I've...you need someone that will..." Blast it all! Why could he never phrase what he meant? Why were his words always a tangle of knots and vines? "Lusiel," he whispered, utterly frustrated.

"If you can't explain, then you don't need to. Just be with me. Please." The boundary between them hovered before his eyes. He could see it, _feel_ it like a tangible wall. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to break through it. So he did. One by one, he heard the strings of his insecurities snapping and falling away, revealing nothing beneath but raw desire. With a growl that was almost feral, he gathered her in his arms and rushed out of the servant's quarters. Lusiel didn't miss a beat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and scattered kisses under his chin. When her lips pressed against his ear, he felt his knees tremble. The response in his groin was immediate and unforgiving. He faltered and nearly ran into a wall. The moment he stopped moving, she pulled him to her for another breath-stealing kiss.

"Wait, sweeting," he protested as they came up for air. "Wait until we get to - "

"I can't," she whimpered, her teeth catching on his earlobe. Just so - just hard enough to cause the entire right side of his body to break out in goosebumps. "I can't wait any more." He couldn't either, but they were out in the hallway. Anyone could walk in at any moment and see them. That was unacceptable. But he couldn't stop kissing her. Over and over - like waves crashing upon sand - their lips clashed in a battle of passion and need. When he could breathe, when he could summon up rational thought, Cullen guided them in the direction of her quarters. Eventually, he felt the doorknob with his hand, but was too preoccupied to twist it properly. His hand fumbled with the lock until he gave a frustrated groan and kicked at the heavy structure. It creaked as it gave way and both he and Lusiel slid into her room. Her fingers pried at the buckles and ties of his armor, but passion and lingering effects of alcohol hindered her progress.

"Take it off," she besieged him in a wanton voice he'd never heard her use before. He stepped back blindly, nearly toppling over more than one piece of furniture in his quest to reach her bed. She didn't resist when he tugged off her shirt then deftly unbuckled her trousers. Her eyes had gone hazy, reminding him of the color of new grass after a Spring shower.

"Beautiful," he purred. "All of you. So beautiful." His hands roamed over every inch, every dip, every curve. She let him look, unashamed and unafraid - let him caress and devour her with his gaze. When his calloused palm brushed over one of her breasts, she gasped and arched her head back. Her arms cradled his head as he bent down to rain kisses on her chest. Smooth, gradual, gentle - like the tide at dawn. As she shivered in delight, he was reminded of her earlier dousing in the rain. Though soft and pliant, her skin felt cold to the touch. Cullen frowned and flipped her around, pushing her onto the bed and wrapping the woolen coverlet around her shoulders. Then he knelt beside her and kissed her again - a quick bit of contact.

"Cullen..."

"Stay," he commanded. "I'll only be a moment." His armor was familiar. He'd been hooking, buckling, and tying the same knots for years. Even if it looked different, it worked the same. In just a few minutes, he divested himself of all of it, allowing the sodden leather and wet metal to fall to the floor in a heap. When he turned, clad only in a pair of linen breeches, he felt himself blush for Lusiel was openly staring. She licked her lips, her eyes ravishing him as they slid down from his shoulders to his waist to hard evidence of his arousal.

"Please," she worried her lip. "Let me touch you. Come here." Cullen joined her under the covers, gasping at the feel of her naked skin against his own. Instinct took over - a primal hunger that could only be sated with an equally elemental rhythm. When he could finally pull himself away from her lips, he trailed kisses down her neck, sensing every shudder and trembling with every tremor as though they were his own. The warmth of her, the taste of her, the sweetness of her unhindered response excited him in unparalleled ways. When his mouth grazed against a swollen nipple, she bucked beneath him, her lips parting on a sound of ecstasy. Maker, how he wanted her - how he yearned for her. Cupping her other breast with his hand, he squeezed, his tongue darting out and laving against her. Lazy, deliberate, almost cruel was the friction of him against her sensitive flesh. He circled all around first, until her grip tightened in his hair and she pulled him closer. No words. No spoken pleas. He sensed that, like him, she might be too far gone for that. He understood, though, this unspoken language of all-consuming need. He understood, and he obeyed.

Drawing her puckered rosy nipple into his mouth, he suckled, savoring the texture of her fragile skin. Her hands were everywhere - on his shoulders, then raking down his back, ghosting down his sides, under the waistband of his breeches and then...Maker, yes! Then those hot palms were wrapping around his bulging shaft, seeking and searching, touching and exploring. She couldn't keep still; he couldn't either. As she arched her back, silently begging him for more, he moved his hips against her hands. Up and down. He grunted and buried his face between her breasts, overwhelmed by the mind-numbing friction of his cock slipping between her nimble fingers. Building pressure, rising heat, molten breath, fevered sighs. It wasn't enough. He knew it, as she did. His hands massaged her hips, then one dipped lower, brushing against the apex of her thighs. Slick moisture greeted him, speaking volumes of her want. Switching to love on her other breast, he brushed his thumb against her clitoris, thrilling when she let out a tiny moan of shock.

"Cullen," she gasped, her eyes flying wide and her hands stilling against his erection. His name had never sounded so good - and so lustful. Fingers skittered up his forearms, nails digging into his biceps. Pleased, he repeated the movement. Again. Then again, drowning in pleasure as her voice rose higher and higher. He pulled back because he needed to see her face, needed to see the pleasure darken her eyes and flush her face, and needed to know that _he_ was responsible. "Wait...wait..." she breathed between moans and whimpers. "So sensitive," she groaned, and he smiled, quickening his pace and watching as she fell farther and farther into the abyss of euphoria - watching as she writhed beneath his ministrations and even tried to move back. He would give no quarter, would allow her no escape save the release he knew she needed. Placing one hand on her belly, he held her still, marveling how when he splayed open his fingers, they spanned nearly the entire width of her waist. When she squirmed from pleasure and tried to close her legs, he bent forward to place his shoulders between them. In the same moment, he reached down with his index finger and slid it against her soaked and heated opening. She shuddered, bucked, and sobbed, but when she tried to speak, he knew that she didn't know what to ask for.

He entered her slowly - first with one finger then another - stretching, scissoring, then curling, keeping his rhythm steady and even. Velveteen, tight, hot - just imaging how it would feel being inside her nearly sent him over the edge. He felt himself throb, but restrained the impulse to take her, wanting to savor this moment and the way she looked when she was in the throes of pleasure. He felt her climbing, saw her lean over the precipice, and let her hang there for a moment. Bending down until his lips were by her ear, he called to her, urging her to relax, to trust him, to let herself go, and to let him lead her over the line into rapture. He captured her lips, devouring all of her moans with a greedy and endless hunger as she fell at last, a sheen of sweat coating her skin and sweet shivers running through her body. She opened her eyes to look at him, her expression dazed and sated. He wanted to ask if she was ready for him, but there was no need. He felt how wet she was, groaned when she bumped her hips against him invitingly. Nothing had changed; no words were needed, even now. Just actions and reactions - conquering and surrendering.

As he began to slip his length inside her, he thought he might reach his climax just from the first thrust. Instinct coaxed him to ram into her to the hilt, to finally claim her as his and his alone. He restrained himself only by a thread, holding onto his composure until he was certain that she was used to him. He'd been waiting to do this for so long, and time was a cruel mistress. Her shivering passage wrapped around him like a molten glove. He had to grit his teeth just to stay still. She touched her forehead to his, nudged him - let him know that she was alright. When he felt her tension ease, he set a steady pace, pulling back then sliding all the way inside her until his full girth was sheathed in her silken depths. Ripples of pleasure flowed down his spine and spread across his back with feather-light touches, a tingle originating in the bottoms of his feet and culminating in his abdomen. The sensation was indescribable, the pleasure almost agonizing. But soon, his chosen rhythm was no longer enough.

Soon, the ripples became waves, and waves transformed into a churning whirlpool of emotion and arousal. Lusiel wrapped her legs around his waist so tightly that he felt the texture of her calves. Her nails raked down his back, bumping over battle scars and rippling sinew. The pain heightened all sensation. He fell to his elbows, keeping his weight off her but pillowing her breasts against his muscular chest. Soft against hard. Yielding to unyielding. With each movement, the pressure in his belly intensified. Her scent enveloped him like a cocoon, dulling his senses to everything but _her._The way her voice lilted and crested, the way her hands shook and struggled to find purchase on his shoulders, the way her thighs trembled, and the way she pulled him closer, closing the gap between them until he nuzzled into her neck and felt her fine red hair catch on the stubble of his chin.

Then she quieted, her lips parting on a ragged breath, and he knew that she was falling once again. He wasn't far behind. She was his leader – his fearless Inquisitor – and he would follow her anywhere she wished. His spine arched, and stars exploded in his vision. His muscles jerked, his seed spilling deep inside her. Then all tension drained from his body, leaving him a panting sweat-soaked mess. As he recovered, she stroked his hair, urging him to rest his head over her heart. Beneath his ear, he heard it racing just as quickly as his own. Moving his hand, he lowered it and captured her palm, twining their fingers together. With the other hand, he cupped a breast and pressed a kiss to her supple flesh, an action that made her hum in pleasure.

"Lusiel," he murmured, unable to find the right words to describe all of the feelings rampaging through his chest. He heard her giggle, a light tinkling sound that reminded him of the chirping of a bird. Lifting himself up onto his elbows, he saw that she was smiling. "Lusiel, that was…I've never felt anything like that…it was…"

"Incredible," she said, and he was surprised to realize that she, too, was struggling to put her feelings into words. Neither of them were good at silver-tongued speeches or empty conversation. Their eyes said more than their lips ever could. After a few more kisses, they lay together without saying anything more, speaking volumes in their silence. It wasn't the lonely sort that he'd felt so many times in the Chantry halls or in the Circle. It was a rich silence, the kind that was filled with memories and reminiscence.

"I'm sorry about the courtyard," she apologized, breaking the companionable quiet.

"I take it you've relinquished the notion of crafting jewelry out of our medicinal fruit?" he grinned.

"No," she confessed, and he raised a brow in surprise. "I'm still going to make one," she pouted. "But I promise not to do it with a blizzard this time." He shook his head in disbelief and kissed her nose.

"If you promise to be patient for me, I'll find a necklace just as lovely to give you as a gift." She blushed at that.

"A gift?"

"Yes, and I even promise to find something that won't spoil without preserves." His grin turned mischievous. "Just one condition, love."

"What?"

"You have to wear just the necklace…" he whispered in her ear. "Nothing else."

"Cullen," she chided, her blush deepening. "You have some…interesting fantasies."

"That's not the best one," he promised and thrilled when she giggled again. "I enjoy seeing you like this," he confessed. "Smiling. Happy."

"I'll try to relax more often," she grinned. "Just…well…maybe I'll avoid trying to outdrink a Qunari next time. It's proven to be somewhat hazardous." He smirked and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him until she was lying on top of his chest. Her long crimson hair fell forward like a curtain around them; it was as though they were in a world all their own.

"You should worry more about Josephine. I think she may have suffered a fatal heart attack when she saw what you were trying to do."

"I'll have to make a formal apology in the morning," Lusiel cringed. "But for now," she leaned down and whispered words of desire and promise in his ear. He groaned in response and pulled her towards him.

"You're insatiable," he accused, feeling himself harden as she rocked her hips against him.

"No, Commander," Lusiel disagreed, kissing a trail down his rippling abdomen. "I've just been waiting far too long for this."


End file.
